


Give Me One Reason to Stay Here

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69, Angst, Blowjobs, Christmas, Cunnalingus, F/M, Fluff, M/F, Multiple Orgasms, Sam/eileen - Freeform, Smut, a christmas fic, adopted family, dean has baggage, dean/donna - Freeform, fluffy holidays, mutual oral, somewhere in season 11 or 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21426214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: Part-way through their road trip to Christmas dinner at Jody's, Dean has a realization about his feelings for Donna and thinks maybe he's been wrong all this time about their friends-with-benefits arrangement. Maybe the benefit of their relationship is happiness and the glaring fact that they're both head-over-heels falling for each other...Or, a fic where Dean is an idiot-ing idiot who idiots, Donna is fuckin' precious, Cas basts a turkey, Eileen and Sam are Couple Of The Year, and Claire is secretly the 19-year-old she pretends she's not.
Relationships: Donna Hanscum/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 73





	Give Me One Reason to Stay Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sobsicles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/gifts).

> Happy birthday to the amazing, beautiful, kind, pure-hearted, sexy and talented AF son_of_a_bitch_spn_family who is a gift to this fandom. She inspires me on a regular basis to not only write pretty good fanfic about a hunter and his angel, but to be a kind person because she's a kind person and seriously excels at make people feel valid and loved and appreciated.
> 
> ...sorry this b-day present is so late. Please enjoy the Dean/Donna and Saileen. 
> 
> <3 Love you, sweet thang!
> 
> Mega thank you to MalMuses for taking a looksie over this and doing beta work for me. <3 Thank you for making it readable. xD
> 
> P.S Here are links to the two songs I reference in this fic:  
Holding Out For A Hero: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWcASV2sey0  
Give Me One Reason: https://youtu.be/V6hQ9HSKlIE

The road ahead of the Impala was a bright, stark white, only carved through by black gouges left behind by previous drivers, and was framed by the snowy evergreen trees that towered on either side of the lane. Dean thought, _“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas_,” and immediately cursed himself for getting that blasted song in his head.

Thankfully, Donna turned up the music, drowning out his yuletide earworm with _Dreams_ by Fleetwood Mac instead, as if she knew. It wouldn’t have been his first choice for road trip tunes, but the tape had come right from Donna’s old collection of her high school faves and Dean had to admit, he didn’t hate it. Actually, most of her cassettes were slowly making their way into the battered tin of tapes that he stored in the glove compartment. Fleetwood Mac, Tracy Chapman, Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, and hell, even guilty pleasure music like Bonnie Tyler—Dean would be hard-pressed to admit to Sam he now knew every word of _Holding Out for a Hero_.

...but around his girl, he’d sing along with as much gusto as she did, not feeling a drop of embarrassment as she grinned at him in between choruses, her dimples deep and her cheeks rosy. 

“What’s the story this time again? Keep losin’ track, y’know!” Donna laughed before her tongue poked out of the side of her lips. She tried to balance her foot on the dashboard, dragging orange nail polish over her big toe. “Were ya just visitin’ me or doin’ a case?”

Noting with a flicker of amusement in his chest that Sam would lose his mind if he knew how Dean allowed someone to put their feet on Baby’s dash, Dean glanced over. “The story is; I was helping Irv out with a case up in Winnipeg.”

“Sam didn’t wanna come with ya?” Donna asked, followed by a mutter under her breath as the car went over a speed bump, causing her to paint the knuckle of her big toe a vibrant orange.

“Nah. Told him it was a clown thing.” 

“Again? Geez, buster, one day he’s gonna get suspicious of all the clown activity_ you _specifically gotta handle.”

“I also think he has something against Winnipeg, but that might be because he watches hockey for some stupid-ass reason, and he’s angry at the Jets for crushing the Red Wings recently… I mean, when we’ve got angels and demons running all over the place and twelve apocalypses happening left and right, who knows when he has time to give a shit about hockey, but Sam’s kind of weird.”

When he was met with silence from Donna, Dean glanced over and saw her gaping at him. “What?”

Donna picked up a stack of cash held together by an elastic band that Dean stored in the ashtray and flapped it at her drying, half-assed pedicure. “Can’t believe you don’t watch hockey.”

“Careful, Donna, your Minnesota is showing.”

“Ooofda,” Donna huffed, shaking her head and glancing at him in mock-disdain, “did I pick the wrong brother? Should I call the tall one who likes hockey? Ya know, the sensible one?”

Dean reached over and shoved at her shoulder, his chest blossoming with warmth as Donna swayed in response and laughed into the back of her hand, her curls bouncing around her round cheeks.

“I will turn this car around, Donna. No movie for you. No movie theatre popcorn, no slushie; they’re all mine. And no Jody’s turkey dinner for you,” Dean jested, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “I told ‘em I was picking you up on the way back from the hunt, but we’re only forty minutes out from your place, so I can make a U-turn—”

“You wouldn’t!” Donna yelped, her snorty-giggle catching in her throat.

Fuck, she was so cute.

“_Test_ me, girl. Those toenails will be dried from the mere whiplash of that U-ie.”

Donna lowered her feet to the mat under the dash and she raised her chin at him. “I will arrest you for makin’ an illegal u-turn, civilian. Drive onward.”

Dean glanced over at her, his brow raised. “Oooh, cuffs, huh? Last time I asked you to use cuffs on me, you said no.”

A patchy blush rose on Donna’s face, but her lips spread into a cheeky grin. “Well...y’might be able to convince me, Winchester.”

“Tonight?” Dean perked up. “After everyone goes to sleep?

Donna looked caught off guard when he looked over at her. She cleared her throat, lowering her eyes from the road to her knees. “I know we’re not, erm—” 

That’s when she paused, shrugging one shoulder. “You don’t wanna be tellin’ none of our friends about…about_ this_,”—she gestured between them—“so we can’t really be thinkin’ ‘bout all the _naughty _things we _could_ be doin’ the next few days at Jody’s. We’ll be in different bedrooms. But...next time you come visit my place, I have a few cuffs lyin’ ‘round that could come out of retirement.”

He noticed her picking at the rip in the knee of her jeans and the warmth in Dean’s heart drained away, sliding down into his stomach, settling there in a pool of guilt. She was right; he had said that he didn’t want to tell their friends and family, that he didn’t want to complicate anything. Saying that there was something between them made it real, and real relationships always went wrong. Dean always fucked them up.

It was him, not her. He’d told her before, and she’d said she understood, that’d she’d _agreed, _even, but he really wished she wouldn’t take it to heart. 

He reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, look… I’m sorry. I…” _Am really scared to ruin this. _“...just think they’d give us a hard time. They’d ask questions, and you know how stuff is with Sam and me, with our lives. It’s messy. The fewer people that know, the less likely it is that you’ll be dragged into the shit-show of our lives. I—”

“Oh,” she flapped a hand at him, flashing him a tight smile that didn’t meet her eye, “don’t worry, Dean. Don’t need-ta explain it to me again. I getcha.”

Somehow, the tight little smile made the feeling in his stomach worse. It was the same smile she used when she brought up her ex Doug. It was the same smile she used when she talked about feeling fat, or ugly, or being disrespected at work. 

“Hey.” Dean squeezed her hand, giving it a shake to raise her eyes to him. “We’ll go to the movies, just us, and have a good time, and then we’ll worry about Jody’s after.”

Donna nodded, tucking a bunch of curls behind her ears. “You betcha. Nothin’ like some Will Ferrell to make it feel like Christmas!”

“Atta girl.”

***

When Dean had been growing up his idea of an ideal woman had been unfortunately shaped by porno mags, cheerleaders, John Hughes flicks, and late-night soft porn that played after the news and dark comedy talk shows. That idea of an ideal woman had followed him into his teen years, shaping the object of his adolescent affections, and later the target of his seedy-bar-hookups that made him feel only slightly-less empty inside. When everything else in his life was going to shit—i.e always—he just figured hooking up with a ‘hot babe’ would help repress whatever sadness was threatening to consume him at the time. Size-2 blondes with big eyes, long lashes, and thick lips. Smokey eyes and long legs, short skirts, and low-necklines. Those were the ideal women…

Until Dean grew the fuck up. Until he realised that those characteristics didn’t make someone more or less valuable than anyone else. 

Those women were awesome, and valid, and _were_ ideal to someone. But the older he got, the more he learned, the less blinded he was by false illusions of hotness and perfection. It helped that the more women he actually met that weren’t just a target for his short-lived, lustfully driven desires, the more he realised the photo-shopped images presented to him growing up were formative in the worst ways. Jody, Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Claire, Donna… _People._ Not objects. Humans, not ideals. 

The more he learned these things, the harder it got to love ‘em and leave ‘em like he used to when he was younger. It got harder to keep making vile jokes at the expense of hot strangers just because people expected him to. It got harder to sleep around, to have casual encounters. It got harder to enjoy strip clubs and got harder to ‘pick up chicks’. Sam tried to get him to go to strip clubs when he was sad, and didn’t quite understand why Dean didn’t feel like going. 

“Are you sick? Running a fever?” Sam would ask. 

Dean would laugh it off or roll his eyes, not wanting to admit he felt intense guilt for the way he’d behaved in the past, for the ideals he’d projected onto women and about women. If he was honest with Sam about why those types of activities weren’t to his liking anymore, it would mean he’d have to admit out loud how much of a douchebag he’d been. Hell, how much of a douchebag he still was to some extent. He had a lot more learning to do.

In recent years, especially after losing Jo and Ellen, after losing Charlie, gaining Mom, becoming closer to Jody, feeling protective over Claire, meeting Donna… He’d forgotten about hooking up, forgot about lustful, empty encounters with body types he thought he was _supposed _to idealize. It all took a back seat. 

Of course, Leviathans, angels, the Mark of Cain, the Men of Letters, death—his and others’—and every other mound of apocalyptic crap kept him busy. They drowned him in sorrow and hopelessness, left him feeling nothing like himself. He didn’t recognize the man in the mirror most of the time, he didn’t feel like himself any more. It was just one garbage shit-storm after another, and Dean Winchester was tired. 

For a while there, he hadn’t been sure who he was anymore; what he was supposed to be, how he was supposed to act, what he was supposed to like, or who he was supposed to love.

Sam treated him differently, Cas wasn’t the same anymore—or was Dean the one that changed? Mom was weird and distant, she was nothing like he thought she’d be, like he’d idealized her in his mind from when he and Sam were kids. 

As soon as they took care of one issue, another three cropped up. Dean was having a hard time looking forward to much anymore. 

That was...until that thing happened with Donna. 

It was the classic chick-flick, rom-com trope, wasn’t it? Dude has a terrible life until one woman ‘changed everything’. Well…Dean—someone who wasn’t a fan of chick-flick, rom-coms at all—found himself in the middle of a plotline he didn’t know he was in until it was too late; he was four weeks deep into a secret affair with a coworker (if he could call a fellow hunter a coworker) behind the backs of everyone he called family. 

He was sneaking off for hookups, daydreaming during work, smiling at his phone, and imagining a future—the whole nine-fuckin’-yards. He felt giddy, and stupidly embarrassed about it. He was in his forties, for fuck’s sake. Sure,_ freshly_ in his forties, but he was still there. Old as fuck. Dean was basically in-the-grave in hunter years. 

And yet, he was crushin’ on Donna like he was fourteen.

It’d kinda started by accident. Donna was months out of her relationship with that asshat Doug—good for nothing jerk-off, ungrateful dickwad—Sam and Jody were back at her place doing research for their case, and Donna had offered to keep Dean company on a stake-out. More goddamn vampires in Sioux Falls. Of _course._

It had started with Donna making one too many ‘stake out’ jokes—“_Stake out. D’yah get it? Because y’kill vampires with stakes?” _

Dean hadn’t even realised he was laughing until he’d spilled coffee on his lap, his shoulders shook with mirth, his lips pressed together tightly so his mouthful of coffee wouldn’t spill down his chin. The joke was so stupid that it bubbled up by accident, starting small but getting big in his chest. 

That had been the first of many jokes on that hunt. Dean wasn’t used to laughing out loud; it’d been a really long time. His face almost hurt doing it, like the muscles didn’t remember how to muscle properly. 

And hunts weren’t supposed to be_ fun_, they were supposed to be dreary and suck a little more of Dean’s soul out of his body each time but there they were, four hours later, walking out of a nest of vampires, covered in blood and exchanging their favourite lines from _Step Brothers_ through wheezing laughs. Dean was red in the face, hiccuping into his sleeve, while Donna tipped her head back and chortled, snorting as she grinned at him, pleased with herself. 

Post-hunts weren’t supposed to be _fun._ Sam and Dean would normally spend the night debriefing, touching base with the victim’s families, and then going to bed with nightmares behind their eyes of the terrors that they’d seen. But after Dean and Donna’s hunt with the vampires, Jody and Sam retired early, while Dean and Donna regrouped in the living room post-shower, and settled on the couch. They watched three Will Ferrell movies in a row, beating each other to reciting their favourite lines, and sharing a bag of chips and a blanket until they both fell asleep, heads on either armrest. Dean had been too busy having a simple ol’ _good time_ to even remember to have nightmares.

Dean hadn’t even realised he had a crush until he was too fuckin’ deep in it. He was a walking chick-flick, rom-com, tropey idiot.

A month after the hunt, Donna had moved close to Sioux Falls. She joined Jody’s police force, and finally caved to the fact that she and Jody were best living close together to mentor their wayward girls. 

Dean and Sam helped her move into her new home; a tiny old house with a small bit of land, surrounded by old firs. The place kinda smelled damp but was quaint in the way that it had piles of wood outside ready to be burned in the old fireplace, and a long dirt driveway speckled in pine needles and red, dried pinecones. There was a well they’d never use and a sketchy cellar door that was accessible from the outside that Dean immediately drew sigils on. While Jody and Sam went out to buy some replacement house knick-knacks that Donna had to throw out in her move, Dean spent time showing Donna how to properly ward her property and let her practice in the basement.

To come to think of it, Dean was pretty sure he’d immediately developed a crush on her the second she funnelled salt into some caulking and went to town on the outside of her windows and baseboards. He distinctly remembered gathering her into his arms in a ‘joking’ hug when she asked him if iron doorknobs were a good idea. If he took a couple of seconds to linger in that hug because she smelled good—like laundry and shampoo—he rationalized it was because he was proud of her.

And, well, he was. 

Before he even knew what was happening, Dean was six months into a _thing _with _Donna _of all people. He found himself making more excuses to ‘visit Jody’, and take on cases around Sioux Falls. He called in ‘backup’ in the form of a giggly cop with a cute Minnesotan accent more than he had before, and ended up taking breaks to hang out in Sioux Falls after hunts just to ‘make sure the baddie wasn’t still lurking’. 

Behind the backs of their friends, Dean and Donna spent more time together. Dean wasn’t sure why he was hiding it, but he told himself it was because he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. 

They were just friends. They just liked to watch movies together.

And TV.

And try out every restaurant in her new town together. 

And ride around in Donna’s cruiser on the freeway, turning on the sirens behind random victims of Dean’s cruel sense of humour. 

They were _friends_. Dean just needed a break from the life, for the first time in years. He was getting to do normal person things with a normal person who had other things to talk about than monsters and the apocalypse. Sure, Cas was a great best friend, but he lacked the ability to talk about how delicious Krispy Kreme donuts were even six deep into the package, and Cas didn’t really appreciate the finer nuances of why Ryan Reynolds was actually the perfect human being.

Did Dean _mean _to hook up with Donna? Did he _intend _for this to happen? No. 

Did it surprise him? Sure. She was his goofy hunter friend until she wasn’t, in all honesty, but did he regret it?

Never.

Dean regretted a lot of things but he did not regret putting his arm around her during their second rewatch of Tucker and Dale, and he did not regret kissing her. He only regretted wasting forty minutes internally summoning the courage to do so, and for letting his hands get so sweaty, and for being so stiff that his shoulder cramped, and for going in for an open mouth kiss when she expected a closed mouth one.

Was she a size two? No. Did she look like the girls in porn and in the magazines Dean had stared at when he was a lonely kid? No.

Did any of that shit matter at all? _Hard_ no.

Granted, when he was a kid, he remembered thinking, as he started at those mostly-naked models, that if he just had a girl like that, he’d be happy. He felt like an idiot now, looking back. He wished he could go back in time and tell that stupid kid that happiness looked like round happy cheeks, and a rose tattoo that was faded and kinda wonky, and that happiness quoted movie lines to him in between hitched, nasally laughter. Happiness was sexiest not in lingerie (though he was sure she’d look smokin’ in that, too), but in a police uniform pressed and tucked in because she felt bravest and most proud of herself in it. 

His happiness was falling asleep on a lumpy couch with his head on Donna’s thigh, and waking up to donuts and coffee because the girl was _busy_ and had to drop Alex off at college, but she’d thought to pick him up something to eat when he finally joined the land of the living. 

Happiness was not just what she could do for him, but it was being excited about what he could do for _her_, too. It was giving her head scratches because he knew she loved it after a long day of having her hair back. It was lighting the fire for when she got home, and making burgers that were ready for her when she woke up at 1PM on her rare weekends off. It was picking up the phone when he was back in Kansas or travelling on a hunt, just to listen when she felt insecure, or missed her ex, or wanted to ask if he’d watched Dr. Sexy’s reunion episode. 

Happiness just happened and it wasn’t porn-sex, or a woman who dressed nicely all the time, smelled good even when it didn’t make sense for her to, or to have a clean house or food ready for him as his mom did for his dad. 

Happiness was Donna Hanscum. 

Her. Just her.

Happiness was whatever weird _thing _they had going behind everyone's backs, when they could get time alone, when he could escape the life for a second to do boring human things like going to the movies, or sitting in her cruiser watching YouTube videos on her phone during her break. 

Happiness was taking down a nest of vampires together, or packing salt into shotgun shells in their underwear while watching cartoons on Sunday morning. It was leaning over and wiping ketchup off her chin and licking it off his thumb while she called him a sicko for it. It was not seeing her for two weeks, only to receive an ugly selfie from her where she had more chins than she had face, and sending one in return while Sam was in the bathroom at a truck stop. 

Dean fell into happiness by accident. He was shocked to realise he’d fallen into happiness and _not even noticed_. Few and farther between were the mornings where he woke up with the hollow ache in his chest that was closely followed by the numbing of most of his emotions. Even fewer were nightmares and feelings of guilt. Sure, they were there, but...fewer.

_Days_ were tinged in darkness, not _life. _That was the biggest difference.When bad shit happened, Dean found himself thinking _this is a bad day _instead of _this is my life. _

And it had happened slowly, gradually. The way he felt about Donna happened entirely by surprise. It had started out so small; a spark of fondness as she made him laugh. A lingering feeling of contentment when she hugged him goodbye after a hunt or yelped ‘hiya, goober!’ at him at occasional dinners at Jody’s. 

Then sent the occasional text. And of course, she’d moved closer. The phone calls picked up, first about hunts, then about life. Phone calls turned to visits, visits turned to sleep overs, and sleepovers turned into…

Sex, sure. They turned into sex. And that, too, had been an accident. 

Movie nights had started on either end of the couch with their legs intertwined. Then blankets were shared. His head ended up on her legs, and hers on his shoulders. They rationalized falling asleep on each other as friend-naps. Then tequila and Bud Light turned friend-naps into cuddling and cuddling turned to…

Sex. Yup. Right.

Really good, straightforward sex. It wasn’t porn, it wasn’t quick hookups in bar bathrooms, or impersonal-but-fulfilling one-night-stand kind of hookups. For the first time since Cassie and Lisa, Dean felt a connection. The sex was good because she was there to sleep with _him, _not because he turned on the charm, or bought her a drink, or winked and flirted a bit over loud music. 

Donna was there to sleep with _him_, the Dean who was kind of a nerd, and didn’t always say the right thing, and had bad morning breath, and based most of his personality on TV he watched. They hadn’t meant for it all to happen; the cuddling and the hanging out and the sex. They hadn’t meant for it to happen at all. Dean had been a shoulder to cry on when she randomly missed Doug the Dickbag Douchenozzle, or had a bad day at work. She’d been an ear for his baggage with Sam and Cas. They’d been each other’s sense of normalcy and fun. But yet… Friends made the best lovers, didn’t they?

Fuck, it was so...simple.

Dean was scared he was going to ruin everything.

‘Everything’. Hah. As if they’d even acknowledged it yet.

No one knew. Not Sam, not Cas, not Jody. None of the girls knew. Maybe, Dean thought with a horrible jolt in his stomach like he’d been punched, they didn’t suspect them because they didn’t think he’d ever give someone like Donna the time of day?

‘Someone like Donna’. Whatever the fuck that meant. Donna was the best. Donna was fun, and sexy, and kind. She was _fucking kind. _

And yet, he knew he’d done nothing _but_ give people that impression. He had no one to blame but himself. And what made matters worse, was that he knew Donna still had issues with self-esteem, and it was assholes like him that made it worse.

She was so damn kind that Dean sometimes didn’t feel worthy. 

He was a piece of shit, he was scum. He was a dark person and he didn’t deserve the way she looked at him, how she looked at him like he was normal, like he was funny, or cute like a regular dude. He felt crushed under the feelings of inadequacy around her and yet… He knew she felt the same way in reverse. He caught her small comments, caught how she made self-deprecating jabs about the ‘type of girls’ he normally went for, and how she apologized for shit she didn’t need to like stretch marks and frizzy hair. 

As if he cared about any of that shit.

Didn’t she know that _she _was way out of his league? She deserved someone better, someone who wasn’t tainted, and old, and broken in every imaginable way. She was a fuckin’ cop. She’d gotten an A+ in eleventh-grade physics, and had a second-place ribbon for javelin throwing in middle school. She was brave, and strong, and funny. She was nice, and good. She was so, so good. 

And she was smokin’. All 5’6 of her, with her round ass and thick thighs, and her big hair. She was soft and smelled good, and he really wished she didn’t straighten her hair out of self-consciousness. Dean wanted to punch out the girls in her high school who’d told her her hair looked like worms. Another notable moment in Dean’s descent into _Donna Donna Donna _was the first morning they’d got caught in the rain after walking down her new street to scope out her neighbours. He’d watched in fascination as her hair kinked and curled into ringlets, wild and huge around her shoulders and down her back. She’d fussed and gotten sweaty with embarrassment, but he found himself reaching out to twine a lock around his finger. 

Fuck anyone who made Donna feel less than the incredible human that she was. He’d stab ‘em. He’d punch them right in the dick.

Though, he supposed, that meant he had to punch himself in the dick, which wasn’t preferable. He’d fucked up about five months in, when he realised he’d spent twenty out of thirty-one days with Donna in some capacity, and when he wasn’t with her, they were texting or calling. 

It was weird, and fucked up, and Dean panicked.

He’d woken up in the early afternoon with Donna’s face smushed against his shoulder, her soft snoring fluttering one of her curly locks into the air over and over, and her arm was around his waist. The sun was shining onto her bed, into the cabin window through the curtains, and Dean found himself watching dust float through the air like it was in slow motion. With an epiphany that made the skin on his face tingle and go numb, blood draining from his cheeks, he realised that he’d woken up completely, entirely, wholly content.

He’d come to consciousness easily, his lids fluttering open, his skin warmed from the sun, his back protected by a soft body, tickled only by frizzy curls. An affectionate arm was wound around his waist and Dean had greeted the new day _without a drop of anxiety_. Wakefulness greeted him softly, curling around his heart and tugging with care, rousing him with gentle hands that welcomed him like a whisper.

It made him panic. 

Nothing was _this _good. A world where Dean didn’t feel entirely consumed with guilt, pain, fear, shame, and mind-numbing depression wasn’t real. And if it was real, even if just for a second, it was going to go crashing down hard, destined to burn in a pit of wrongly-placed expectations of a future where things worked out for once.

He’d packed. Brushed his teeth and washed his face as quickly as he could. Gotten dressed as silently as he could manage. He’d unplugged his charger from beside her bedside—the one he’d kept here permanently since month two. He’d gone out into the living room, crossed the rug, and crouched down to shove his boots on with shaking hands. 

He’d almost made it out without being detected. 

But, then, he’d stood at the sound of old floorboards creaking behind him, and when he turned, he found himself staring at Donna across the living room. She stood at the bedroom door in her big, worn, obnoxiously-blue Smurfs t-shirt that brushed the tops of her knees. She stood there and merely stared at him, but he saw the quick blinks and the bobbing in her throat as she did that swallowing thing of hers that meant she was trying to hold herself together.

“Leavin’?” she asked, clearing her throat, quickly flashing him a tight smile that faded the second it wobbled back down into a thin line. In his chest, his heart sunk further, sinking into the black sludge that was his piece-of-shit soul that didn’t deserve a second of her time. Her eyes diverted to the floor somewhere around his knees.

He nodded. “Yup.” 

The shoulder strap of his duffel squeaked as he squeezed his fist around it. 

“Drive safe,” she murmured, raising a hand quickly to run under her nose. She jerked her head up and gestured to out to the window just past him where the Impala was speckled in sunlight shining through the canopy of old trees. 

Donna flashed him various stages of aborted smiles. 

She knew.

“Will do,” he replied gruffly, clearing his throat and shoving his trembling hands into his pockets. Like a coward, he lowered his gaze. “Take care of yourself, D-train.”

“You betcha.” 

They never ended their visits like this. Whenever they parted, it was long. Drawn out. Dean had to try for at least an hour to pull himself out of her arms, to stop nuzzling his face into her neck, to convince himself that they didn’t need to watch another episode of the Looney Tunes, that they didn’t need to go out for breakfast, or take one last coffee-fuelled walk down her street to the small man-made lake with the ducks that were way too aggressive.

This was cold. Blunt. 

Dean left.

Of course, he made it about twenty-five feet down her driveway towards the Impala before something snapped in him.

Sure, it could go wrong. This thing with Donna could crash and burn, it could burst into flames and leave them both scarred. Anything worth loving in his life usually ended up mangled and broken, but…

Fuck, maybe this time it wouldn’t.

It felt different.

This didn’t feel like Cassie and Lisa. It didn’t have the weight of _‘you’ll have to leave them because this isn’t their life’ _hanging over him. Because Donna knew about hunting. Donna didn’t ask for him to drop who he was. Donna knew about everything that he’d done, every atrocity that he’d committed. She’d sat with him on her porch, supplying cold cans of beers and warm arms around him for _hours _as he’d told her everything he’d ever done wrong; hell, crossroads deals, purgatory, lies, the Mark... She’d listened and offered him dimple-y smiles even when he hadn’t deserved it. She hadn’t judged, she’d only surveyed him with compassion. She’d used the bottom edge of her plaid shirt to wipe tears off his cheeks and jawline, and called him a ‘big dumb goober’ when he’d insisted he was fucked up, barely human. 

She’d woken him up from awful, vivid nightmares not with a hand on his arm and a whispered, “are you okay?”, nor had she stared at him in horror or disgust. Dean had woken up from his nightmares with the lamp beside him on, a glass of water by his face, and arms already open as he reached out for her. 

It was more than he deserved, but fuck, did he ever want her. 

If there was something worth taking a risk on, wasn’t it this? Wasn’t this the type of human connection he and Sam fought monsters and evil to preserve? Why weren’t they allowed a slice of normalcy and love? Why was Dean’s auto-response to walk away because it would end badly, or it would get difficult and hurt?

_Why is it my job to save these people, dad? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh?_

He’d said that once to the grave of his father, from inside a djinn dream of his ideal life, and found that he’d buried the sentiment deep inside to not be revisited lest it should hurt. But it echoed in Dean’s head in that moment like he’d just said it out loud. It surprised him; to be returning to that desperate plea. It’d been over a decade since he’d harboured those feelings. He’d often found himself grounded in bitter resentment that it simply wasn’t his place on this earth to be happy; it was to make the world safe so others could have happiness. 

Though on that train of thought, he figured, didn’t Donna deserve to be happy? For some crazy reason, he believed her when she said the last five months had been the happiest she’d had in a long time. 

Dean had turned on his heel and trudged back up the driveway. He’d jumped the two steps up onto her porch, he’d pushed open the screen door, and let his bag drop down with a thump on a woven worn carpet. Through the open bedroom door, he saw Donna drop the sheets in her hand as she’d been making the bed, and turn to face him.

She was teary-eyed and a bit red in the face, but she looked unendingly gorgeous, even if he felt intense guilt for making her look so god damn sad.

“What did I do _wrong_?” was all she had asked, quietly, simply. 

He crossed the room, kicking off his shoes and wrenching his jacket off his shoulders. His hands were in her hair and lips on hers moments before he breathed into her mouth, “Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.”

He explained his fears to her soon afterwards, but they spent a good few minutes simply hugging, so relieved Dean hadn’t gotten in his car and left in the very permanent, final way that he’d intended to. Later, when he got out his insecurities, she punched him in the arm and called him a ‘poophead’, which, frankly, was well deserved.

If this thing crashed and burned… It would be crushing. Worse than a spell gone wrong, or the end of the world, or any other mystically-fuelled heartbreak that punctuated each of Dean and Sam’s lives. If this _thing _with Donna dissolved, it would be shattering because it was the most normal thing Dean’d done essentially ever. If he fucked this up, he couldn't blame it on prophecy or a spell or celestial-hell-blah-blah-blah. It would entirely his own inadequacy to function as a regular person. 

But hell, he was gonna try, because Dean Winchester was past forty, he’d saved the world countless times, he’d sacrificed friends and family and himself enough times. It was about time he let himself have something, and let himself love someone. 

***

Donna was the fluffiest girl sometimes. 

She was all smiles and okie-dokes and anyhoo’s. She was snorting, hiccuping laughter that was weirdly contagious to the point Dean sometimes wondered if she was a witch, because no one else got him to laugh hard at anything. But there he was, 90% of the time he was with her, going red in the face and laughing so hard all he did was make sucking, choking noises into his hand.

She bounced when she was excited and made little cackling noises when she got her way—i.e when Dean woke her up with breakfast ready, or when he found them a case and clapped her ass to announce they had “ghosties and ghoulies to kill”—Her words, not his.

She was so fluffy, that even after six months of going to bonetown with her, Dean still got a little starstruck and confused when she managed to consistently fuck him within an inch of his life. It was entirely something he accepted about himself that Dean tended to be a bit gentler in the sack than others would anticipate; he liked a slower pace, softer touches, lots of kissing. 

Donna definitely liked more of a mix.

It wasn’t to say that Donna wasn’t soft like Dean was. Hell, their first time had been so goddamn soft, with Dean hauling Donna onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around her more. She’d tried to wriggle off, murmuring something about being too heavy or too big or whatever it had been—Dean just remembered manhandling her onto his lap again and kissing every fucking bit of insecurity off her lips, with his hands in her hair, and on her face, and gripped around her hips and thighs, and smoothing back over the swell of her ass. They’d had sex real slow with her on top, holding her tightly in his arms, their hands gripped tightly.

But yeah, Donna liked a good mix.

He learned quickly, after they’d shaken off the jitters of crossing_ that line _between friends and friends-with-certain-benefits, it only took a few more tumbles in Donna’s cabin for her to beg him to fuck her _harder _and _deeper_ as he bent her over the side of her couch. That poor piece of furniture had ended up across the room, leaving behind gouge marks in the old wooden floor, and Dean found himself collapsing beside Donna on the floor, where they often stayed for a hefty twenty minutes because their legs had stopped working. 

She was adventurous in ways Dean wasn’t prepared for. She liked to have sex in the woods—she blamed it on being from Minnesota, whatever the fuck that meant. And she liked to have sex in public more than the average law-abiding cop. The one time they’d tried having a date like a regular couple—Dean’d even made _reservations_, like a _loser_—he’d ended up choking his way through an orgasm built up under the table by the craziest (and only) foot-job he’d ever gotten.

It was now, mid-way through their road trip to Jody’s, when she’d let him go down on her in an empty movie theatre—her legs up, spread three-seats-wide, open as he licked and tongue-fucked her through three orgasms—that Dean came to the heart-stopping realization that he was absolutely, entirely, completely in-love with Donna Hanscum. 

And not just in the way that he was in love with her thighs, like, how he wanted to worship them to the point of plastering the Impala in pictures of her perfect, thick, pillowy thighs that he wanted to fall asleep on for the rest of his life. Not in the way he was in love with her endless Will Farrell references, and her ability to recall every _The Office_ line ever written. Not in the way he was in love with the fact that she not only thought that _yes, _not only doespineapple belongs on pizza, but so did olives.

It was kind of shocking—and again, that little voice in him told him to run—but Dean was completely in-love with Donna Hanscum. 

“...dunno what it is, but I never get tired of _Elf_! He’s just so… Oh, fer cute! The maple syrup is _so_ funny, and when he sees Santa, it’s real sweet, isn’t it? I mean, it’s no _AnchorMan_, but it still gets me in a real festive mood, ya know?” Donna prattled on about the movie they’d “watched” one hour, forty-six minutes, and thirty-eight seconds after Dean had realised he was so fucking in love with her.

Back on the road after their detour to the movies, the Impala rumbled towards Jody’s place where Sam was already waiting with the girls, setting up and decorating because Jody wasn’t going to “do this shit alone”. Hell, even Cas was there—though that might be due to a certain not-daughter of his, and the fact that he’d flown Sam over from the bunker. It wouldn’t be a true family Christmas if Cas wasn't there, if Dean was entirely honest with himself, not that he had literally _any _experience with family gatherings. 

As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for Donna, he would’ve rolled his eyes at the entire thing. Hunters didn’t do Christmas, much less hunters with Winchester as their last names, but…

...well, Donna was wearing antlers, and her hair was curly, and she wore a big ugly Christmas sweater that had functioning twinkly lights on it, so Dean didn’t have the heart to tell her being holly and jolly wasn’t normally his thing. The minute she told him she felt really pretty in the sweater, and wiggled mistletoe over their heads earlier that morning, he was in. There wasn’t really much he would say no to if it made her beam at him and feel good inside.

And, fuck, it turned out that he was _in-love_ with her, so now he _really _ couldn’t say no to her. Not that now, twenty-three minutes and nineteen seconds after his realization, he really could say _anything_. Crippling nerves kept him silent, though Donna hardly noticed. 

“Not that I _watched _most of the movie," Donna went on, her cheeks going rosy and dimpled as she grinned slyly at him. 

"Yeah," Dean huffed in forced laughter.

"What's wrong?" Donna asked, yanking on the straw in her slushie from the movie theatre. "Hungry?"

“Nah.” Dean turned onto the road leading to Jody’s, his foot pressing firmly on the gas, hoping to get to Jody’s fast. 

“Tired?” D’you want me to drive?”

“Nah.”

The squawking of the straw against the plastic lid came to an abrupt stop. “Dean, you embarrassed about what we did?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, his eyes darting between her and the turn he was making into Jody’s driveway. “God, no. _No_. That was… That was _really _fun. I’m just…” _Freaking the fuck out because I’m kinda in love with you. IN LOVE, DONNA. _“I’m just bummed I gotta go the entire weekend without doin’ it again, that’s all. I’m, uh...” God, he really was in love. Dean slowed down to a stop behind Jody’s pick up truck, and glanced up to the house, feeling both warmed to see the girls and Sam puttering around in the living room, and feeling dread because it meant he had to go in as Dean, and not Dean-with-Donna. 

He turned off the engine and turned to Donna, grabbing her hand again. “I’m just not looking forward to… Y’know…”

_Sleeping alone. Not being able to touch you. Pretending there’s nothing here but friendship._

That tight, fake smile spread across Donna face and she gave his hand a squeeze before letting go to pocket her phone and adjust her antlers in her hair. “Let’s go in. I need your help bringin’ the gifts in for the girls. Grab ‘em from the back and bring with.”

She climbed out of the car after grabbing their duffles from the back seat and a Tupperware of cookies _they’d made together _in the morning. Donna in her polka-dot cotton underwear and Mickey-Mouse t-shirt, Dean in boxers and an old, ripped sweater, sat together on the counter, dragging their fingers through cookie dough stuck to the side of the mixing bowl as the actual cookies baked a few feet away in the oven.

_Damn, _Dean thought as he watched her walk around the car, up towards the house, _I’m getting real domestic in my old age. Cookies. Huh._

***

“TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES!” Jody barked at Dean when he entered the house, in a minute after Donna. She was on her hands and knees, running a hand-held vacuum over the rug in her living room, but Dean was immediately distracted by the giant Christmas tree behind her. He wondered how he’d missed it in the bay window.

“Damn, Jodes!” Dean laughed, toeing off his shoes and grinning as he looked around her house, taking in the tinsel and decorations. There were bells hung off bannisters, little fat Santa Claus figurines in weird places, and more poinsettia than was probably legal. “You really outdid yourself!”

“Don’t blame me,” Jody called over the loud buzz of the vacuum, shaking her head and looking sufficiently irritated. “Blame Claire Novak and Alexis-the-Menace for picking out every decoration they could find at Dollarama.”

As if summoned by the sound of Jody grinding her name out from between her teeth, Claire rounded the corner from the kitchen, licking what appeared to be mashed potatoes from a wooden spoon. “Sup, loser?”

“You watch your mouth, little missy!” Donna chided from just ahead, backing out of the walk-in closet, her finger-wagging. It did not go unnoticed by Dean that her antlers were now flickering red and green in tandem with her sweater. “Dean’s got your presents in his hand there, ya know! Be a real shame if they went missin’ because of your potty mouth!”

“Yeah!” Jody agreed, narrowing her eyes at Claire and wobbling the vacuum in her direction. “Maybe you and Alex will find yourselves on the naughty list for being real fuckin’ brats today!”

“I’m not a little kid, Jody, I don’t care what list I’m on.” Claire rolled her eyes, and rested her hip against the wall as Dean approached her, his brows up on his forehead. 

“What the heck’s going on?” Dean asked, snorting, gesturing over his shoulder at Jody. “What’d you do to piss her off?”

Licking another tongue-full of potatoes from a spoon, Claire smacked her lips and shrugged. “It wasn’t me, it was Alex. She thought it’d be funny to glitter bomb me, but jokes on her, all she did was earn herself a punch to the stomach and half the glitter poured into her hair.” 

Donna approached from behind Dean, gasping. “Claire Amelia Novak! You _didn’t _punch Alex in the stomach, didja?”

Looking between Dean’s grin and Donna’s gaping mouth, Claire smirked and then waved the spoon around. “Relax, it wasn’t that hard and she got me back good. I got a rib that I think is fractured, but the real victim is the carpet. Jody’s been vacuuming for like twenty minutes and all that’s happening is that she’s spreading it around like herpes.” Claire made a kneading motion. “She’s getting it in there real good.”

Dean laughed as he shimmied past her in the narrow hallway, hearing Donna whisper something at Claire and thwap her with the cookie Tupperware. Following the smell of turkey roasting, tangerines, oranges, and a perfume that reminded him of—

“Eileen!” Dean exclaimed in surprise, catching the eye of the excited-looking brunette from across the old wooden kitchen island. 

Eileen grinned, saluting to Dean and said, “Hey, loser!”

Practicing the limited ASL he knew, Dean saluted back and signed ‘I’, ‘M’, and ‘Y’ near his face as he said, “I missed you!”

“Missed you too,” she replied, moving around Cas, who looked very serious and in deep concentration as he slid the piping hot turkey onto the counter from the over and basted it.

Dean dropped the girls’ presents onto the floor and threw his arms around Eileen as she approached him. Behind her back, Sam was leaning on the island, squinting at the turkey as Cas absolutely covered it in butter. 

“Relax, Cas, you wanna just glaze it, not drown it! Jesus—”

With the coat and blazer gone and his sleeves rolled up, Castiel looked stressed, glancing up at Dean with an exasperated tight smile, before he turned back to Sam and said seriously, “The turkey requires hydration, Sam. Jody said I would have to sleep outside if I ruined this, and I don’t wish to displease her, although I’m unsure if she knows I don’t require sleep and the cold doesn’t bother me—”

Eileen pulled back from their hug and Dean smiled warmly down at her. 

“They’re fighting, aren’t they?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Yup.” Dean nodded.

She tapped her ear and whispered cheekily, “Best part about being deaf is I get to ignore them fighting. But I can _feel_ it my soul.”

Claire appeared beside them, drawing their attention. She was smirking at Cas, but then glanced between Dean and Eileen, with his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist.

“Cas is on turkey duty,” Claire explained. “I’d say ‘Lord, help us all’, but, well, y’know.”

Castiel’s head snapped up and even Dean stood to attention as the angel said, in his best not-dad-voice, “Claire, if you would like to be critical, please—” The angel held out the baster. “—I implore you to _do it yourself._”

Yikes. If Cas was getting snippy, Dean couldn’t imagine what kind of day he’d walked into. 

Regardless, when Claire grumbled her way out of the room, Dean tapped Eileen on the shoulder to draw her attention. “What are you doing here?” he asked, shaking his head, bewildered, signing the letters beside his mouth.

Eileen was a good friend, and over the last year they’d interacted with her more and more—Sam had even taken to practicing ASL when he thought Dean wouldn’t notice. Several times, he’d caught Sam spelling location names with his hands in his lap as they drove past city signs, and signing out the words he was reading in books. But as close as they’d gotten with her, Dean had no idea they were close enough to invite her to a...a...family thing?

“Christmas,” Eileen answered, shrugging under Dean’s arm. Her cheek got rosy and she glanced at Sam, before meeting Dean’s eye again. “Sam invited me. Is that okay?”

“Of course!” Dean said quickly, his fingers flying into letters. “Yeah, that’s fine. Glad to have you here. Wish I would’ve known. Would’ve brought you a gift.”

With a roll of her eyes, Eileen shook her head. “I don’t need _stuff_. I’m just happy to be invited.”

“Well—” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “—glad to have you here.”

Eileen winked and slid from under his arm, back towards her task, which turns out had been to help Cas with the turkey while Sam scrutinized. As soon as she was back between Sam and Cas, Sam relaxed, seeming satisfied that Cas was being supervised and headed over to Dean.

They bumped fists and Sam wrenched open the fridge door, pulling two short and stubby bottles of beer from within. He offered one to Dean. “Merry Christmas, jerk. How was the drive?”

After sliding his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it off the back of a stool, Dean accepted the beer and twisted off the cap, scowling down at the portly amber bottle. “It was fine, bitch. We’re only like twenty minutes away—is this a cider?”

“It’s a radler—half beer, half juice,” Sam murmured, his bottle hovering near his lips. “Blame Cas, this is what we get for trusting him with a Mastercard and the instructions ‘get something good’.”

Cas, who was in the middle of signing quickly with Eileen, placed a hand on her shoulder to pause their conversation and snapped to Sam, “It’s what you _told_ me to get, Sam. You said ‘radler, raspberry, has a picture of a monkey on it’. And Claire likes them.”

Sam blushed and cleared his throat, shifting his weight on his feet, his eyes darting over at Dean. “There’s half-beer in it, shut up and drink it.” Although a moment later, after glaring at Dean’s grin, Sam paused his sipping again and added, “Wait, what do you mean you were only twenty minutes away?”

Fuck, busted. Backpedalling, Dean added, “Well, twenty minutes from_ Donna_’s after I, uh, picked her up from her place. After my hunt.”

“Yeah, right. Of course.” Sam nodded seriously. He slurped from the radler and then swallowed, watching Castiel and Eileen completely abandon talking out loud and opting just to have their entire discussion in sign language. “How was the clown?”

“Clowny. The whole thing was a joke. Hunting with Irv can be a real circus sometimes.”

“For the love of God, Dean. _Please._” 

Dean drank deeply from the drink, his senses offended by the sweetness of the raspberry-citrus-something that washed over his tongue before the after taste of beer settled in his mouth. It was actually surprisingly nice, but in efforts to shift away from Sam’s probing about Dean’s fake case, Dean made a hissing noise and stared down at the bottle, shuddering in an exaggerated way that made Sam groan. “Gross. What kinda hippy-dippy, sparkling-water, juice-box-abomination beer is this, Sam? It’s a bastardization, it’s offensive, it’s—”

“All we have, so you’re gonna drink it and you’re gonna like it,” Jody growled from behind Dean, jabbing him in the kidney with the hand-held vacuum. “Castiel was good enough to get it for us, Sam wanted it, and I need you to drink as much of it as you can so that _Claire _doesn’t drink as much of it as she can.”

“Hey!” Claire said, sauntering back into the kitchen from the other entrance leading from the dining room. She looked between everyone and scoffed. “Rude. I can drink responsibly.”

“Yeah,” Donna piped up, slipping in from the dining room and coming up beside Claire, sliding an arm around her. She tapped her shoulder and grinned, curly hair falling over her shoulder as she met Claire’s faux-grumpy, half-smiling gaze. “But’cha don’t _want _to drink responsibly, do ya? What fun would that be?”

All the adults laughed as Claire cracked a smile—all adults except Cas, who looked concerned, his eyes narrowing at Claire. But Eileen tapped his shoulder and dragged his attention away, a smirk on her lips as she sighed something at him, mouthing something silently that made Cas actually crack a smile. As strained as their relationship had been at times, Cas was Dean’s best friend and it was nice to see him smile. 

Jody shoved through the brothers into the kitchen to join Claire and Donna at the other doorway. Dean caught Donna’s eye, finding her already watching him, and inside his chest unfurled warmth like a flower to the sun. Donna pressed her lips into that pouty smile that had a habit of making Dean’s stomach fill with butterflies so rowdy he felt a bit nauseous. Happy nausea—that was a new one. 

It was only when Sam elbowed him and Donna let herself be swept away by conversation with her girls that Dean realised Sam was speaking to him again, and he’d been busy making goo-goo eyes at Donna. 

“Hello? So? The clown?” Sam’s brows knitted together. “What was it?”

The glass mouth of the radler returned to Dean’s lips to buy time, but he paused before drinking, muttering, “A shifter.”

“Gross,” Sam whispered. 

The brothers stood in silence, watching everyone else putter around the kitchen, before Jody snapped her fingers and flapped her hand at both of them. “Hey! I know Christmas isn’t really a ‘thing’ for you two usually, but first rule of family-gatherings is that you make yourselves useful. Turkey is nearly done, and the table needs setting. You understand, Sam?”

Sam stood to attention, nodding sharply and making three long strides to cross the kitchen, disappearing into the dining room. 

Half-watching Cas follow Eileen's instructions on how to fold napkins nicely, Jody put her hands on her hips and flopped a finger at Dean. “You wanna get the fireplace going and get that bag off the floor? Last thing I need is someone tripping on them and cracking their heads open on Christmas Eve!”

In a similar fashion to Sam, Dean moved quickly out of pure fear of mom-anger, snatching up Donna’s gifts and hauling ass to the living room so they could be deposited under the tree. Once in the living room, Dean exchanged fearful looks with Sam, who was in the dining room, shimmying a red tablecloth over the table.

“I feel like we’re gonna get so grounded,” Dean joked, grinning at Sam and kneeling in front of the empty fireplace.

“She’s gonna send us to our rooms without dinner,” Sam jested, glancing into the kitchen, clear hoping Jody wouldn't hear. A moment later, he was walking around the couch and into the living towards an old cabinet by a bookshelf. As Sam started pulling out nice plates, and Dean piled kindling in the firebox, Dean took his chance with Sam alone to ask questions.

“So...Eileen's here?” He glanced over at Sam, who paused mid-reach to set down a plate. Dean knew the little lip purse and head shake; Sam was hiding something. “Everything all right with her? Since when do we invite random hunter buddies to stuff like this? I mean, not that we have ‘stuff like this’ usually. And not like we have ‘family’ things really, but—” 

Sam set down the plate, and then another, interrupting Dean with a clearing of his throat. “Listen, Dean. About Eileen. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this but you haven’t really been around lately. A-and I mean, I’ve been pretty slammed, too, it’s not that. I, uh, I’ve been busy with the Men of Letters stuff, and researching lore to find mom, and you’ve been hunting…”

Dean twisted old hardware store flyers in his hand, jimmying them under the kindling, and he flicked an eyebrow up at Sam over his shoulder. "You all right there, or…?"

One plate hit the table a bit too hard, slipping from Sam's grip. Dean watched his brother actually get flustered, the tops of his cheeks colouring and his hand obsessively shoving brown locks behind his ear. "Um," Sam went on, shrugging and moving onto cutlery, fiddling through butter knives in his hands. "Yeah, _I'm_ good, and she's good too," he added rushedly. "She's great! Awesome, really. She's been with me at the bunker helping on research."

"Really?" Dean said, perplexed, reaching over to the small stack of wood beside the mantle. "When? 'Cause I'm in the bunker like most days of the week and…"

"Well," Sam said in a peculiar tone that made Dean stop his task entirely. 

When Dean looked over at him, shifting his crouch onto one hip, his hand taping at his knee, Dean realised Sam looked _nerv_ous. With a tilt of his head he probably picked up from Cas, Dean asked, "Sam?"

The silver cutlery clanked together in Sam's fiddling fingers. In a rush of breath, Sam confessed, "She's been helping me with the Men of Letters stuff and I think we're onto something there, but she's here because… because…I-we-that is, she and I, we're…"

Realisation dribbled down Dean's spine, cold and jarring, like ice poured down his back. 

"Eileen and I are seeing each other, Dean." Sam looked two seconds from cold sweats, so Dean saved him.

"Yeah, I gathered from the blabbering, Sam." He reached up and rubbed his forehead. "This is why you've been cool with staying behind on hunts and just doing research, isn't it? I thought it was weird you'd been staying behind every single time, pretty much… You didn't put up much of a fight when I wanted to do stuff solo..."

The entire pile of utensils were set down on the table and Sam approached Dean, his hands in his pockets, his big dumb shoulders curled forward in a way that made his 7 ft. tall stature look small. Sam winced. "You're angry."

Dean shrugged, and in all honesty, he wasn't sure what he felt, but not because he was angry or conflicted, but because he was experiencing sensations of butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and panic, and a weird, warm feeling right in the pit of his gut. 

"Nah, not mad, just… Have you thought about the issues here, Sam? I mean, other than the fact that you got a murder dick and no offence, but chicks die after they fuck you. But, like..." Dean grimaced, look up at Sam with regret. "People around us die in general, man. And bad guys use people we love against us."

It was Sam's turn to shrug, but his gesture wasn't injected with regret. Instead, he looked hopeful. "Sure, I get that, and I thought that, too, but...Eileen is a _hunter_, Dean. She knows our lives. She knows about risk and losing people. Haven't we always fantasized about being able to find hunters who understood us, who we could trust, who we could fall in love with? I mean, I know you never said it out loud, I know you never had hope, but I did. And I told Eileen my worries, and you know what, she doesn't care. And who am I to make that choice for her?" Sam stood up taller. "Who am I to turn this away? Why don't I deserve to be happy for once? Why do I always have to sacrifice everything like some kind of martyr, Dean? We save everyone else but what about us?"

_Why is it my job to save these people, dad? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh?_

The lump in Dean's throat was a boulder. He’d found himself thinking the exact same things over the last few months. Granted, he did still have the little voice in his head that told him all of this was temporary and everything would crash and burn either by his doing or external forces. But...that voice was getting smaller as happiness and some sense of normalcy crept closer to his extended fingertips.

He was so _tired _of pain. He just wanted to be happy.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, turning away from his brother’s pleading eyes. With a clearing of his throat, he repeated, “Okay.”

Dean stacked four logs into a square, and stood—wincing at his cracking knees—to grab a box of matches from the mantle. Behind him, Sam was silent.

Until, “Okay? Just okay? You’re...not gonna fight me?”

_Ffffft._ Flame erupted on the end of a match, and Dean lit the fire, watching expired hardware sales go up in flames. 10% off lawn mowers last Friday…

“Nah,” Dean replied. He was quiet, but only because something that felt unfamiliar was unfurling in his stomach. It was warm and exciting, it had his heart picking up. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, the fire heating the skin on the side of his face. “Our life is hard, man. It’s unhappy, stressful. It’s pain and blood and horror. We’ve lost a lot. We’re more used to the feeling of fear than regular-people feelings of…” _Contentment. Happiness. Relief. _

He went on, smiling a bit despite himself when Sam blinked, looking stunned. Dean said, “If you’ve got someone who gets it; they know the life, they know that you won’t always be around, that 50% of the time you got hellfire and pain and grief bouncing around in that noggin’, but they still wanna date your fucked-up ass? Then who would I be to tell you you don’t deserve a break? I get it.”

Turning away, Dean grabbed a poker and began prodding at the fire, urging the logs to catch. Behind him, there was silence again, then he heard heavy footsteps and saw Sam sit on the raised stone hearth beside him. Dean glanced up and found Sam staring over his own plaid-clad shoulder into the fire.

“It’s kinda weird,” Sam admitted quietly, his fingers picking at his nails between his legs. “It actually took me a few months to shake off the feeling of ‘this is going to fall apart’. How messed up is that? I just kept waiting for her to realise how nuts I am and chose to leave, to be done with me.” Sam laughed a bit; a little huff through his nose and a jolt of his shoulders. “My body literally couldn’t process the feelings of being happy at first. Laughing, and uh, holding hands, and you know...” 

“Going to bonetown,” Dean supplied, grinning.

“Wow, trust you to make something really nice sound super gross.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean couldn't help but grin when Sam fought his own toothy smile.

_Tell him. Tell him about Donna. _

While his heart urged him to relate to Sam, to reveal that he deeply, _deeply _understood everything Sam was saying, Dean just itched at his cheek and returned his gaze to the flickering oranges and reds, letting the heat explain away his flush.

“Anyway, yeah. I felt my body change over the last few months. I had to remind myself how to feel good without feeling guilty right afterwards. Had to train myself how to relax without immediately fearing that it’d be ripped from me. Eileen, she’s been… She’s been really awesome. She’s patient with me, and kind to pretty much everyone, but she doesn't let me get away with much. Which I think I need, I—” 

“Wait,” Dean interrupted, jerking his head up. His mouth twisted into a grin. “Is this why you’ve been working so hard on the ASL? I thought you were just tryna be nice, because you were skyping her for Men of Letters stuff, but… Wow, you’re a big fucking sap.”

Sam rolled his eyes and kicked out at Dean, getting him in the thigh and laughing when Dean wobbled to the side, nearly losing his balance. Sam ran his hands through his hair, his voice tinged with fondness. “It’s her _language_, Dean. If she was French, it wouldn’t be any different if I was trying to learn French for her. I want her to feel totally comfortable with me. And…” 

They stared at each other, then Sam lifted his gaze over into the kitchen, where Claire was chatting with Eileen, a rare, genuine smile on the young woman’s face.

“And I love her,” Sam admitted in a murmur, his eyes sparkling fondly. “I do. Learning ASL for her has been really fulfilling, and I can see it means a lot to her. I’m not as good with feelings as I used to be, but this is my way to show her how I care. It makes us closer and—”

“Is this what setting the table looks like?” Jody asked, carrying two platters into the room from the entrance in the hallway. “Are we eating with our hands? Drinking straight from the wine bottles?”

Dean and Sam shot to their feet. “Sorry, Jodes,” they said at the same time, speed walking back towards the table.

Dean grabbed up the utensils while Sam headed towards the kitchen and murmured, “I’ll grab glasses.”

In the living room, Jody winked at Dean, leaning in as she set down a plate of brussel sprouts and a salad, her hip bumping Dean’s as he arranged the rest of the forks down beside each plate.

“So he told you, huh?” she asked.

Dean glanced at her, then raised his eyes towards the kitchen, where he saw Sam drag his hand over Eileen’s lower back as he passed her, and place a kiss on her cheek when she turned to look at him. It made the warm feelings in Dean’s stomach spread through his middle. “Yeah. Guess I was the last to know?”

Jody tapped him on the shoulder with a butter knife as she scooted past him to get to the other side of the table. “Don’t be offended, you were the person he was most nervous to tell. Cut him some slack. The boy has a girlfriend, it’s not the apocalypse.”

“For once,” Dean replied lowly, but when Jody glanced up at him with a wink, Dean added, “I’m not mad. He deserves some good shit in his life. I’m just a worrier.”

“Don’t be. She’s not a werewolf or ghoul, and she takes care of him. Not much more you can ask for. You boys deserve a life outside of hunting, it’s good for the soul.” She pushed salt-and-pepper hair from her eyes and winked at Dean, making him feel a weird kind of nervous that he hid by standing with his hip out and crossing his arms over his chest.

Before she moved to head back towards the kitchen, she said sagely, “You need balance, the both of you; this life is getting to you guys and you need a break. Let yourselves be normal sometimes, it’s okay. Really. Don’t you think you’ve earned it by now?”

Before Dean could ask her what she knew—because damn, the sparkle in her eye and the weight of her tone made Dean feel like she wasn’t talking about Sam—Jody was in the kitchen.

“DINNER TIME! LET’S GET MERRY!”

***

Dean spent dinner with his attention pulled in a few directions. 

The evening turned out to be strangely emotional for him, and Dean had to very consciously make the decision to not drown out these confusing feelings in alcohol. He drank one more radler—they were admittedly delicious—but then switched to cranberry juice.

The entire evening, the whole gathering, felt entirely foreign to him. Sure, he and Sam had their shitty motel Christmas’ a few times before over the years, but nothing ever compared to this. He felt like he belonged to an actual family. Jody was scolding Claire for drinking too much wine, Claire was whining about being able to drink as much as she wanted, Alex was bickering with Claire about how she couldn’t get the glitter from her hair and was threatening to have a redux on the prank. Sam was… Fuck. Sam and Eileen were deep in conversation. Dean couldn’t really tear his eyes away at first as Sam openly kissed her on the head, or she slid her arm around the back of his chair when Sam got into a conversation with Cas about the organizational structure of Heaven—all in ASL, Dean noted. He knew Eileen could read lips just fine, but it was heartwarming that anyone who she seemed to look in the direction of made the point of trying to sign. Dean only knew the alphabet and basic words, but clearly he needed to work on learning more. He owed it to Sam and most importantly, he owed it to Eileen.

As if she knew what he was thinking, part-way through dinner, Eileen looked over at him and mouthed, “You okay?”

Dean raised his hand to his mouth and signed ‘N’, ‘B’, ‘B’. “Never been better,” he mouthed, winking. After she smiled, shoulders relaxing, he added silently and signed, “Thank you. Welcome to the family.”

Her lips parted into a beaming smile and Dean couldn’t help but return it. She raised a glass to him before pressing the rim to her lips, and Dean did the same, drinking a mouthful of cranberry juice and watching Sam look between them, his eyes a bit wet and blinking.

They were...a family. This gathering? It was everything Dean and Sam had never gotten. They sat around the table with people they loved. Their mom was AWOL, sure, but… Well, she hadn’t felt like a mom since she got back. Jody piled their plates with food against their will, and Claire finished off the wine, and Cas… Dean’s best friend, who didn’t need to eat, let Jody urge him to try everything. Sam brought a girlfriend to dinner and had to go through the awkward rigamarole of getting his brother’s blessing. It was the most normal, regular person shit they’d ever done and it was more than Dean could’ve hoped for. 

And, of course, he sat at this table with not just his adopted family, but beside Donna. 

Through the savoury smell of turkey and cranberry sauce, of the spicy scent of stuffing and balsamic brussel sprouts, of tangerines and cinnamon, of firewood burning, of sweet pine from the Christmas potpourri, Dean found himself leaning past her to get another serving of potatoes. He inhaled her scent. She smelled like soft, warm laundry, like sleeping in on Sunday, and her old cabin. She smelled like cuddling on the couch, and slept-like-the-dead-naps after a long hunt. 

“Hey,” he murmured, knocking her with his elbow.

Mid-moan around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy, Donna glanced at him and ducked her head, pressing her hand to her full mouth. “Hhhya.” She swallowed and elbowed him back, lowering her hand, repeating with a grin. “Hiya, Dean! Sorry, I was havin’ a spiritual moment. Dunno what’s in the gravy, but Cas musta put some angel magic in there, ‘cause oofta, that was a mouthful of Heaven.”

Dean glanced at Cas, who glanced at him quickly, pretending to listen to Sam prattle on, but had a smile on his dry lips that indicated he’d heard Donna just fine. Damn angel and his super-hearing.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He speared a brussel sprout and dragged it through some gravy before he cleared his throat, shifted on his chair, and asked her quietly after leaning in sideways, “Did you, uh, know about Sam and Eileen?”

Another fork-full of mashed potatoes hovered in front of Donna’s mouth, and she glanced around the table to make sure they weren’t being overheard before she leaned in, too, and nodded, a curl bouncing against her cheek. While she was smiling, her eyes winced. “Oh ya, sure did. I… Hope you’re not mad, there, Dean. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

They shared a stare, and then Dean smiled back at her, bumping his shoulder to hers. “No biggie, D-train. Just means you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“Oh,” she chuckled, turning back to her plate. He noted that light-hearted tone in her voice that meant she was sad—it cropped up every once in a while when she brought up her marriage. Dean’s heart sunk. 

“Well,” she offered lightly, the crow's feet around her eyes creasing for a moment as she forced a bigger smile, “you know I am.”

Right. _Them._ A secret.

Dean found himself staring at Eileen and Sam just in time to catch them grinning at each other, and Sam leaned in to give her a quick kiss. 

Dinner looked great, but Dean suddenly lost his appetite. He set down his utensils and picked up his glass, drinking deeply. He wasn't sure why he felt a weird stinging in his eyes, or a feeling in his stomach like he was sick, but he couldn’t help but sit there and think, _you did this to yourself_—

“Hey?”

Soft fingertips pressed to his thigh. Dean realised he’d been staring at his empty glass for maybe too long. Conversations had changed and Alex and Claire were beginning to clear some empty plates away. Eileen was bringing over desserts.

“Hiya, pouty boy,” Donna teased, her tone gentle. Her fingers slid over his leg until her palm was warm against his knee. “What’s kickin’ around in that noggin’? You’re looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

“Carb coma,” Dean lied, raising his gaze and locking it with her pretty brown ones lined in a smokey, smudged make-up he didn’t know the name of. He’d always meant to tell her how nice it looked on her. Maybe he should… He watched her from the bed sometimes, when she got up earlier and leaned over her counter in the bathroom, inches from the mirror, rubbing a brush onto her cheeks and eyelids. He noticed her confidence boost after she put a little bit on, and he thought if anything made her feel better, he loved it too.

“Oh ya!” she agreed, laughing in surprise at his answer, her hand clapped to her chest. “Oh, I feel you on that one, Dean. Got no restraint when it comes to turkey, let me tell ya! And brussel sprouts? Oh, if my seven-year-old self could hear me now! I used to put ‘em in my cheeks at the table and spit ‘em out in my aunt’s purse—”

“Your eyes look pretty,” Dean blurted out quietly, eyes flickering across her face. His hand felt sweaty against the glass.

Donna’s mouth dropped open and her hands retreated from his leg. He thought he’d said something wrong when she bit her bottom lip and the tops of her cheeks coloured. “Oh, um…”

“The smudgy powder,” he clarified like an idiot, feeling so fucking nervous all of a sudden, as if he’d outted them to the entire table. Truth was, no one was paying attention to them—Cas was trying those chocolate oranges out of duress from Claire and Alex, Eileen was scrolling through her phone, Sam and Jody were laughing about something she was showing him on her iPad, their mouths full of cheesecake. 

Dean ducked his head and pushed his chair out, grabbing his plate. “Just gonna go put this away. You done?” 

He reached across to take her plate after she nodded, but before he could get up, her hand was on his leg again and this time she squeezed. When he met her eye, nervousness melted away.

Donna was grinning at him; she looked _really _pretty now, with her tooth smile beaming at him, and her eyes shining happily. “Thanks, Dean.”

Every single cell in his body wanted to lean in and kiss her before taking away their plates. He even felt himself lean in a bit before he nodded and forced himself to get up, stacking her plate on top of his. “No problem. Cheesecake? I know we’re two seconds from a carb coma for real, but there’s always room for cheesecake.”

“Oh, you betcha,” she said excitedly, pointing after him. “You need help?”

As soon as Dean said, ‘sure!’ lightly, Donna was on her feet, straightening her antlers and righting her sweater. He heard her grab plates behind them and together they carted them to the sink. While the rest of their family chattered away at the table, Dean poured water into the sink to soak while Donna cut them some cheesecake and slid the slices onto their plates.

“Mmmm,” he heard her moan from behind him.

He turned and saw her slid a fork from between her red-painted lips. 

“_So good,” _she said thickly around a mouthful of dessert. She held out the fork and asked, “Wanna try?”

“H-E-double-hockey-sticks _yes,” _he said in jest, winking when her dimples deepened and she laughed, knowing full well he was mocking her inability to really swear.

Half-shielded away from everyone on the other side of the fridge, Dean leaned in as she offered him a fork-full of the fluffy, creamy cake, but instead of wrapping his lips around the silver, he pressed his lips to Donna’s, inhaling her scent, now mixed with sweet cherry jam and cheesecake.

Donna made a little noise of surprise, but he felt her relax against his face, and she opened her mouth to him. Dean’s heart melted and he stepped towards her more, walking her back against the doorframe, where they were entirely hidden from the table-full of family. 

Taking this quick, brief moment, Dean pressed his hands to her face, one sliding into her hair, the other sliding down her jaw, his thumb stroking her chin. Their lips moved together gently, and her soft hum against his mouth let him know exactly how she had missed kissing him just as much as he had her.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he murmured against her mouth when they broke apart just a bit, the tip of his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

Donna sucked in a breath, and she said, “I—”

Her eyes shifted over his shoulder and Donna yelped, jumping back from Dean. 

_Shit_. He turned quickly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, trying to rub away red lipstick before—

Cas stared at them, his gaze slowly sliding from Donna to Dean, taking in Donna’s big wide eyes and Dean’s red-tinted mouth. “Um,” his low baritone hummed.

“It’s not what it looked like,” Dean rushed out, words tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall of _fuck, I fucked up_. “We were just—”

Cas raised a hand and set down the platter of turkey left-overs onto the counter. He shrugged a shoulder and pointed over their heads. “No need to explain, Dean. I’m familiar with some human traditions.” Castiel’s dry lips twisted into a small smile and his eyes twinkled strangely. “I see the mistletoe.”

Perplexed, Dean and Donna both looked up just in time to see mistletoe sprouting from the top of the doorframe, it’s root glowing a silvery blue before it faded away in a small burst, leaving behind a velvety red bow to adhere the plant to silver-tinsel.

Dean and Donna looked back down at Cas, who looked pleased with himself. “See?”

Fondness Dean hadn’t experienced for Cas in a while burst in his chest with surprising ferocity, and he found himself laughing into his sleeve as he rubbed away the lingering smudges of lipstick. “Mistletoe. Right.”

“Of course,” Cas rumbled, winking. He made to turn. “Now excuse me, _we’re _all beginning to bring back the remaining food.”

Hint taken. Dean pointed over Donna shoulder. “I, uh, gotta use the washroom. Gotta just get past you.” _I gotta wipe this lipstick off before the entire fuckin’ family sees me._

Donna was beaming, still enamoured with Castiel’s little yuletide trick. “You _betcha_.”

***

Dean had six hours to think. 

From six to midnight, he watched Sam and Eileen act in several ways that would easily win them Cutest Couple of All Time awards. It both filled his heart with warmth and pure, unaltered panic. He was so fucking scared Eileen would die, or she’d break Sam’s heart, or someone or something out there would use this love between them as ammunition. 

From six to midnight, he watched his family interact in various ways that had nothing to do with hunting monsters or fighting an apocalypse. Castiel got roped into a game of Monopoly with Claire and Alex at the coffee table in front of the fire, while Sam, Eileen, Dean, and Donna cleaned up after dinner. 

Later, Dean watched everyone settle on the couches and on the floor as Jody put on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and Alex handed out cups of cocoa she’d made herself from scratch. He watched Claire fall asleep on Cas’ shoulder, and winced when she jolted awake and accidentally murmured in her drunken state, “Sorry, Dad.” No one mentioned it, but Alex stopped purposely annoying Claire for an hour or so afterwards, Cas went more quiet than usual, and Jody rushed to follow Claire when she’d initially disappeared into the kitchen for a moment alone. 

He guessed, as with every regular, boring old family, there were always sore history that cropped up around the holidays. It wouldn't make sense that they'd avoid that, this wayward bunch.

From six to midnight, Dean watched Donna, too. 

He observed her interact with her family, with Jody and Claire, with Alex. He admired how she managed to make Alex laugh, and her presence smoothed the depths in the lines of Jody’s face. Everyone around her seemed to relax. Donna had that way about her, didn’t she? Her hiccuping, snorting laugh, and her big beaming smile, and how she was unconditionally warm with everyone she interacted with. Hell, even Cas seemed more relaxed around her—after, of course, a period of time where he seemed unsure how to react to a stranger punching him in the arm and calling him cute nicknames like “Cassie” and “Wings McGee”, or saying things to him like “Oh, fer cute! We should be poppin’ you up right on toppa the tree, shouldn't we?”

When the night wound down, when Alex pretended to be annoyed she had to escort Claire to bed but did so with gentleness and patience, and when Jody disappeared onto the front-porch steps with a troubled-looking Cas and a bottle of wine, Dean was left sitting on a couch with Donna, opposite Sam and Eileen, who were cuddled under a blanket, scrolling through Sam’s tablet. On the TV, McLaulay Culkin got left home alone again for the millionth time.

Outside, Dean noticed, it snowed thick, heavy snow. The trees in Jody’s backyard were heavy in blankets of puffy white.

Uncurling from the couch and stretching her arms up towards the ceiling, Donna yawned and jutted her thumb up towards the stairs. “Well, fellas, I’m pooped! Off to bed for the night, I think. Merry Christmas, you all don’t stay up too late.”

Sam nudged Eileen, who looked up at Donna and smiled. “Going to bed?”

Donna patted her stomach and beamed over at the kitchen. “Full of food and too much cocoa, but can’t complain. I’m off to have dreams of sugar plums and Santa.” She reached out as she walked by Eileen, giving her extended hand a squeeze.

Dean watched Donna ascend the steps, first checking out her ass in blue jeans before he blinked and cleared his throat, sitting up from the couch, which was quite an effort because the thing was as sinky as it was comfy. 

He waved until he got both Eileen and Sam’s attention. “Think I’m gonna hit the hay, too. Where are you two sleeping?”

Sam pointed at their sprawled bodies. “Pull out couch.”

“You want me to take it?” Dean asked, his brows raised. “I got one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. It’s, uh, got a bigger bed and it’s private…”

He was doing his best to be a supportive brother, even though Sam-in-a-relationship still frightened him

But Sam shook his head, “We’re fine, Dean. Gonna hang out for a bit longer, might watch another movie.”

Eileen looked from Sam to Dean and winked. “We won’t have sex in the living room, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Dean grinned, pointing at her. “Sam’s a good boy, but you? Don’t trust you, Eileen.”

“Merry Christmas.” Eileen laughed as she snuggled deeper into the crook of Sam’s shoulder. “Goodnight.” 

Dean walked upstairs quietly, not wanting to wake Claire or Alex, but he realised as he walked by their room, that the girls were up and speaking, their voices low but audible through the door in quiet rumbles. Down the hallway, from within the small bathroom there, he heard the soft sound of Tracy Chapman, and he smiled, knowing exactly who was going through their night-time routine. He walked towards his room—a small spare bedroom that he’d dropped his things off in earlier. Quickly, he changed and padded back across the top floor, but not before glancing down over the bannister to make sure no one was coming upstairs. 

After one tap with his knuckle against the slightly-open doorway, Dean pushed open the bathroom door to find Donna standing at the bathroom counter, brushing her teeth, her face shiny from just freshly washing off her makeup. Her hair was up in a bun, frizzy curls and waves falling around her face and shoulders. Once she caught his eye in the mirror, her face lit up and she waved, unable to speak around white minty foam.

From her phone on the counter, Tracy Chapman crooned loftily; _“I don’t wanna leave you lonely, you better make me change my mind. Baby, I got your number and I know that you got mine…”_

The door clicked closed behind him and Dean stepped up behind Donna. 

The emotions of the entire night caught up with him—the good ones, bad ones, the feelings of love, the feelings of guilt and discomfort. He was exhausted from it.

Craving touch, Dean curled around her back, his arms winding around her waist, hands splayed over her stomach. His head resting on the top of her back, his cheek pressed into her shoulder, where he nuzzled in, inhaling her scent. He felt her lean down a bit, and heard the water run, heard her spit, then her fingers reached up and rubbed at the top of his head.

“Hiya, Dean,” she greeted softly, her tone cheery, but tinged in concern. “You okay?”

“Just missed you,” he murmured into her soft sleeping shirt.

“You’re bein’ a big suck,” she teased him, but her fingers rubbed at the hair at the top of his head again, nails scratching at his scalp. “You’re not usually a big suck—are you _dancing?”_

Dean swayed a bit behind her and smiled into her shirt, placing a kiss into her shoulder blade. Quietly, he hummed along with Tracy.

“—_Gimme one reason to stay here, and I’ll turn my back around. Said I don’t wanna leave you lonely, you betta make me change my mind…”_

Donna turned in his arms, her feet squeaking against the tile, and he lifted his face. She smelled like citrus face wash and minty toothpaste. Her skin was clean of makeup.

“Your eyes look pretty,” he whispered, lips twitching into a smile. His feet stepped a bit to the side, then back.

Donna snorted, teeth biting her bottom lip before she fired back, murmuring, “Don’t got none of that smudgy powder on them this time.”

“Don’t need it,” he murmured back, before leaning in and melting into Donna’s waiting lips. The bathroom filled with the tinny sound of _Give Me One Reason _and the wet noises of kissing. Dean pulled Donna away from the counter, his hands slipping down her back and around her waist. 

Inspired by her hands on his face and shoulders, Dean nuzzled his nose into her face and began singing softly, his voice off-key, “_I just want someone to hold me, and rock me through the night_—”

Donna groaned, but she grinned against his face and her hips began moving, too. Her hearty giggles were contagious and Dean laughed around the lyrics as she stepped back and he raised his arm, urging her by a hand on her hip to twirl under his arm. 

As guitars plucked and the music played, Dean shoved aside every small voice in his head telling him he was being too vulnerable, and cool guys didn’t dance, and that Sam would make fun of him for knowing every lyric to this song.

_“The youthful heart can love you and give you what you need. I said this youthful heart can love you, and give you what you need. But I’m too old to go chasing around, wasting my precious energy…”_

“_Gimme one reason to stay here_—” Donna joined in, her voice just as bad as Dean’s, but her singing was coming from behind a beaming grin, so Dean couldn’t give a flying fuck about the quality of her vocals. He joined in, twirling under her arm when she offered it, and they whisper-sang together with the music coming from her phone, “—_And I’ll turn right back around_.”

The rest of the song played out, Dean dipping her once, ignoring her protests of her being too heavy, and shut her up with a thorough kiss that ended up with them against the opposite wall and the bun in Donna’s hair taken out, the hair tie ditched on the ground, and her hair tangled around his fingers.

_“_—_Said I told you that I loved you,” _Tracy sang, as the song ended. _“And there ain’t no more to say.”_

The last chords of guitar played, and Dean signed contently through it, turning his wrist so he dragged the back of his knuckles down Donna’s cheek. She exhaled against his face, her lips softening, her tongue brushing out one last time against his before she pulled her face back.

Lovely chocolate brown stared back at him and she asked, dazed, “What’s a girl done to earn _that_?”

“I know, I know. I’m _sorry_, you didn’t deserve to put up with my singing this close to bed. The nightmares alone aren’t deserved, I’m such a dick—”

Donna socked Dean in the stomach, and he coughed out a laugh. “Oh, that’s enough teasin’ from you, Winchester! Come on, out with it!”

“What?” he asked, winking, his hands rubbing up and down her sides, his fingers warm from the friction against soft cotton. “I need an excuse to visit you?”

She raised a brow and pointed it at the ceiling. “Under this roof? You and me don’t exist. _You _wanted it that way, Dean. You said it’d be best if no one knew, said _you _thought it would be uncomplicated—”

And that’s when it bubbled up, urged by his realization today and the doubtful glint in her eye that made his stomach twist in guilt. “What if I admitted I was a piece of shit? What if I changed my mind?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line and Donna stared into his face, her brows twitching together, forming a line of concern above her eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Donna—”

“You said you didn’t want anyone knowin’ about us. _You _said that. You said it’d be safe, that what we had was best uncomplicated. _You _said it should be a secret. _You, _Dean. And—”

He realised, as her voice got louder, and her cheeks got rosier, and her eyes got more watery, that Donna was _angry_. He swallowed hard and stepped back. 

She went on, her hands-free now, slipped off his shoulders and one finger tapping into her open palm. She sniffed hard and whispered roughly, staring somewhere around his collarbone. “Don’t be teasing me, Dean. Tauntin’ me with this and then changin’ your mind tomorrow! This ain’t my first rodeo, y’know, with boys like you. Popular boys who kiss me in our friend's basement, but don’t wanna tell no one because I’m was the chubby girl from physics who helped ‘em do their homework. You said you didn’t want our family and friends to know, you said—”

Oh no. No, no, no. She had it all wrong. _All this time _ and she thought he didn’t want people to know about them because of how she looked?

Dean raised his hands, his face twisted in horror. “What? No, Donna. That’s not what this is—”

“Then what is it?” she asked, blinking hard, raising her eyes up to his face, her neck patchy and red. “You’ve been visiting me for months, Dean. Spending the weekend and sleeping in my bed, and kissing me and makin’...and _having sex_ with me! But no one knows about us but strangers and the clerks at the movie theatres and the diner in the county over. You say you can’t tell anyone, and that it would be safer for people to think you’re alone, but Sam’s dating a hunter and look at him! What...”

Dean was frozen, his hands hot and clammy at his sides. He felt his face drained of colour.

Donna shrugged, seeming to relax. Her eyes swept his face, the brown in them clear and rich. “I thought we were just friends. Friends with benefits, that’s what you said, right?”

He could throw up. Tightly, Dean asked, “Is that what you think?”

“No,” Donna admitted, her voice watery. “I think you’ve really bamboozled me. I think you made me feel things for you that you don’t return, Dean. I think you were happy with our arrangement until you saw your brother with his girlfriend and thought that might be a neat little thing to try—”

“I’m in love with you,” Dean breathed, the confession pulled from him in the form of a woosh of air. His shoulders shrugged and his hands twitched at his sides. His face was hot, his in his ears he heard the rushing of blood. 

Fuck. He’s said it. He’d fucking said it when their relationship was falling apart right in front of him.

_This. _

_This _was why he didn’t open himself up. He knew it was too good to last.

“You _what?_” she asked, blinking hard, looking genuinely bewildered. 

Dean reached up and rubbed at his forehead, his eyes pinched. “Don’t make me repeat myself when you’re breaking up with me.”

To his surprise, Donna punched him in the stomach, hard enough to surprise him but not enough to hurt. He jerked his head up and rubbed at his middle, blinking hard at her. “Wha—”

“Oh, you absolute _Winchester_!” Donna whispered harshly at him, wagging her finger in his face. “No ones breakin’ up, you butt! To be honest, never knew I could even break up with someone who never said we were dating, but now that I know we were dating, then _no, I’m not breaking up with you!”_

Dean raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed, shaking his head. “I’m so confused.”

Donna raised her own hands to her face and rubbed at her forehead too, mimicking his motion. Her eyes were wide and her brows were raised. “You’re confused? Until one minute ago I thought I was your booty call that you were too embarrassed to tell others about, and...and now you’re…” Her eyes softened and her hands fell down to her sides. “Now you’re in love? With...me? Me?”

“Of course I am,” Dean replied, indignant. “Donna, I’m fucking crazy about you.”

She backed up a bit, her back hitting the wall and she shook her head, tears pinched at the corners of her eyes. “Why?” she breathed. “You could have anyone.”

“I don’t want anyone, I want you.” He stepped forward, following her. He entered her personal space and raised his hands to her face, cupping her warm cheeks gently. With their eyes locked, he argued, “You think I’ve _ever _spent this much time with anyone other than Sam? You think I would do this—lying to Sam, being away from the life, _wanting _to be away from the life—for anyone else? I wait to hear from you _every day_. My stupid heart grows like ten times its fucking size every time I heard your voice over the phone or see you’ve texted me, or after I’ve waited a whole week just to come visit. When you open your door, I feel like…” He made a loose gesture around his shoulders. “I feel...this weight I didn’t realise was there just _lift off_ my shoulders, and my chest feels light when I guess it usually feels tight. A-And when I have to leave you, I feel just _tired_ all the time. I want to sleep so time moves faster, so I can see you sooner. The whole goddamn drive back to Lebanon is hard because I gotta sit there and know it’ll be a while before I see you again, and I gotta go back to this life where I gotta pretend nothing matters but ‘the life’ and ‘the mission’. I fuckin’ _greive _the entire time I leave you. And I know that’s not healthy, for normal people at least, but my life is just so shit, Donna. But not when I’m with you. You make me feel normal.”

Donna stared at him. He watched her swallow and saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

Dean swallowed audibly, the noise loud in the small tiled room. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he wasn’t sure he was welcome anymore, a concept that he couldn’t bare to really grasp in the moment.

His voice got hushed and he added desperately, “And it’s not just what you do for me, Donna, it’s what I wanna do for you, too. I really like that for some fucking reason, you like me enough that when we’re together you seem more confident. You’re happier, and you smile more, and you don’t try to hide you the way you laugh. All I wanna do is make you happy, and I don’t really care what it takes to do it. You make me forget to care about being tough or manly, especially if it makes you feel like you can be you. Every time I wake up beside you, I think, _what can I do for her today_? And I’ve always been pretty selfish, Donna, I’ve always been worried about what people could do for me, and what people think of me, and how I appear to others. But when we’re together I’m not stuck in the horror show that is my head. I’m just there, present. With you.”

He watched Donna begin to nod under his hand, and by the way her eyes were watering, and her lips pressed into a thin line, he immediately became convinced he’d said something wrong. Her hand came up to wrap around his and his heart sank when she pulled his hands away from her face, but then she just held them against her chest.

“I feel that way, too,” she breathed, a tear dropping onto her cheek. “Ever since my divorce, I’ve been feelin’ pretty weak, been feelin’ like a nothing, a nobody. Didn’t really know what there was about me that someone could love; I’m… Doug said I was too big, too loud, with hobbies that are too dumb. He said I was too busy. My career got in the way, even though he was a cop, too, you know?” She sniffed, reaching up to rub under her nose. She ducked her head, her eyes staring at their joined hands. “Been feeling like an invisible lump, with no direction, and no sense of what I wanted. But—” She raised her head, and her tight lips spread into a gummy smile, her dimples sinking in on either cheek. “—I never felt ugly around you. Never felt too loud, or too busy. You let me be a person, with things I like that are my own, and even if you don’t like ‘em, you still listen. You never made me feel fat, even though I know I’m not really the kind of gal you usually go for—”

“Donna, no, listen—”

“Don’t be feedin’ me no malarky about how that’s not true,” she interrupted, pointing a finger at him. 

Dean fell silent, and Donna went on, her face softening. “Anyhoo, last few months I been feelin’...comfortable. Happy. Been feelin’ real good in my own skin. I’ve been feeling like I’m funny, and worth listenin’ to, ‘cause you always listen, y’know? Missed your calling as a therapist.” She laughed, her shoulders shrugging. “And when you’re away I really can't wait for you to get back. Bed feels colder without yah. Cabin is quiet without your snoring, or your shower-singing, or your laugh.”

They stood in silence, and fingers rubbing against each other. 

Then Donna added, “Just can’t figure out what about me makes you wanna hide what we got between us, y’know?”

Dean’s gaze swept her face, taking in her wet lashes, and her lips—he noticed her teeth worrying at her bottom lip and the patchy flush of her cheeks. She looked ridiculously pretty with messy curls around her face and the old Power Rangers t-shirt hanging off her shoulder. With his chest filled with the spreading feeling of warmth, he stepped forward, untwined his fingers from her grasp, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“Scared,” he murmured into her shoulder. 

Donna’s hands spread against his back and he felt her rub circles into his shirt. “I’m a hunter, too, remember, Winchester? Maybe a new one, but I can shoot a gun and fight with the best of ‘em. There’s nothin’ to be scared of, ya know?”

Dean felt his face get hot and he blinked, ashamed when he watched a tear drop onto Donna’s shoulder and soak into the grey material. She must’ve felt it, because she squeezed him harder. 

“What’s going on back there?” she asked gently. Her one hand came up and scratched at the nape of his neck. 

“M’scared you’ll leave. Scared you’ll realise how fucked up I am. Scared it’s all temporary, that if a monster doesn't get you, then you’ll decide to go on your own.” He exhaled a shuddering breath, willing his eyes to stop tearing up, though they did no such thing. In his arms, Donna melted into him. His heart pounded as he admitted, “Scared you don’t love me back.”

“Dean,” Donna breathed against his neck, her fingers curling into fists around his shirt. “You think you’re the only idiot in this bathroom who’s in love, eh? For Pete’s sake, where have you been these last six months?”

“In denial,” Dean chuckled into Donna’s shoulder, his heart swelling in his chest, joy coursing through his torso and down his arms. He squeezed them around Donna, burying his face in her hair.

“In the Nile?” Donna gasped. She pulled away from Dean’s sharply, her hands on his shoulders, holding him so she could get a good look at him. “How was Egypt? Hot? I heard it’s hot.”

Dean raised his hand, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “Oh, God, that joke. It’s so bad. It’s _so bad, _Donna.”

“That’s D-train to you, buster!” Donna said, her face breaking out into a beaming grin. She jerked her head towards the door as she reached up to wipe tears from Dean’s cheeks. “Speakin’ of D-train, you feel like railing me? Pull that train into the station, if you know what I mean? My bed’s big enough for two, but if you wake up early enough, you can sneak back into yours before morning time.”

“Choo-choo?” Dean offered, replacing her hands with his as he wiped at his cheeks. In attempts to save face, he made a horn-blowing gesture with his arm and raised his brows. “All aboard?”

“All aboard the D-train,” Donna chuckled, tugging him out into the hallway. “Wipe those tears, muffin, and prepare for a round-trip. It’s gonna be a long, long ride.”

***

With all her attempts to diffuse their tearful exchange of vulnerabilities with jokes and humor, with the implication that they would have some fun, rough sex to push away the heavy emotions, the moment they were in the dark bedroom, the vibe changed. With their clothing puddled on the floor and arms around each other, there was nothing _but _feelings and emotions between them. 

They were heavy and powerful, they were pushed into each other's skin from their fingertips and mouths, from kisses and hot breaths. When Dean kneeled on the edge of the bed and sunk his tongue into her, his hands massaged at her thighs, fingertips pushed into her skin, urging her to feel how much he loved her body, how much he wished she felt seen and how much he wished he knew she was wanted. 

And when she came against his tongue, shuddering against his mouth, her thighs trembling in his grasp, Dean poured all of his emotions into kissing his way up her legs, taking his time moving down to her ankles, then back up, worshiping her calves, then knees, then licking his way up her thighs again. By the time he was back between her legs, he went down on her again, and revelled in pushing her knees up to her chest, making love to her pussy with his tongue, sinking into her and then licking his way up with soft pressure before he curled his tongue around her clit and sucked.

When she came again, she was impossibly wet, glistening, and ready, and it took everything in him not to just sink into her as his throbbing, straining cock would love him to. 

Instead, he took his time kissing up her body, running his hands over her stomach and sides, leaving bite marks and hickeys on her waist and ribs. His fingers massaged at her nipples and he nipped at the swells of her breasts, thumbs brushing over taut dusty-pink buds. He was moaning against her collarbone when she wrapped her legs around his waist and flipped them over. 

When she usually was on top, there was always a moment when she worried about being too heavy, and it always twisted something in Dean’s stomach because it was _so _untrue. She was _incredibly _beautiful sitting in his lap, and if he could just eternally revel in the moments when she rode him like that for the rest of his life, he would. He was quite certain that if he was going to Heaven, his Heaven would be Donna Hanscum riding his cock without a care. She’d ride with confidence, her body lifted up momentarily to reveal his cock gleaming and dripping, before she slid back down, the tips of her finger swirling over her own pussy moments before they were so connected he didn’t know where he started and she began.

To his surprise, in the light of the moon’ rays that shone through the window, cut only but the swirling of thick snowflakes, Dean was rolled onto his back and Donna didn’t worry about being too heavy. As a matter of fact, she climbed up his body and turned entirely around, her knees on either side of his head. In realisation, Dean’s heart rate picked up in excitement; they’d never done this before. She’d never sat on his face, and especially never from this angle.

“Please,” Dean breathed, his hot breath mingling with the heat from her shining pussy. 

A second later, he had his lips latched around her clit, and his nose was buried between her lips, his hands reached up, cupping her ass, spreading her open for him. He was panting against her when suddenly he inhaled sharply, gasping as she leaned over, their bodies pressed together, and she took his cock into her mouth, his sweats pushed down and tucked under his balls. 

She pumped at the base of his cock, fist curled at the root, pulling his foreskin down so she could swirl her hot, smooth tongue around the tip of his dick. Dean groaned around her clit and felt it circuit back when she moaned with his cock in her mouth, her throat fluttering around the tip, and her tongue pushing firmly against his shaft.

They sucked and fucked each other, Dean’s hands kneading into her ass, fingers digging into her skin, while Donna pushed his sweats off his legs and sucked on his cock with fervor, her nails leaving stinging, pleasurable marks on the back of his thigh and hips. Once free, one hand kept stroking him, filling his belly with heat, while the other hand went between his legs, one of her fingers pushed into his ass, moving steadily and smoothly, tapping at his prostate in rhythm with her gentle sucking of his cock. She knew it was how he liked it; two knuckles deep, and finger curved, moving in a steady, slow thrusts.

They tried to be quiet; there were others still awake in the house. Claire and Alex were just down the hall. Cas was downstairs. Jody would be coming up to bed any time now. Sam and Eileen might be coming up to use the washroom, to get ready for bed, even if they were assigned to sleep downstairs. Donna’s moans as she came were muffled with Dean still heavy on her tongue, and his own panting breaths disappeared into her skin, his head turned into her thigh when she lapped her tongue at him just right, and when her finger picked up its slow breach of his spit-slick ring of muscle. 

When she pressed her forehead to his hip to catch her breath, Dean tapped at her leg, wordlessly urging her to her knees, and he slid out from under her. The second he was free, he got onto his knees, too, reaching out for her roughly, determined to capture her swollen, slick lips, and to bury his fingers in her wild hair. They crashed into each other, her hands as desperate as his, her fingers leaving bruises in his waist and her hand grasping at his face as their lips came together, tongues competing for purchase, slipping between lips and dragging over jawlines. Dean whimpered when Donna sucked at his neck, his head turned to give her access, his eyes rolling back as pleasant, sharp sensations like tickly-lightning shuddered down between his legs right from where her lips left a mark. 

“Please,” Dean begged again. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but Donna knew. She took his face in her hands and pulled him in again, kissing him within an inch of his life, stealing his breath away and leaving Dean trembling. 

Together, they fell onto the bed, landing on their sides, and Donna hooked her one leg up around Dean’s hip. He reached down between them, took his cock in his hand, and inched forward until the tip of his cock was rubbing into damp curls, and then slipped between her lips, heat engulfing him. She rocked against him in response, using him to get off, using the tip of his cock to rub at her clit. 

“Dean,” she panted against his mouth. “I want...you. Boy, I _want _you.”

Her hand was down at his hip and then slid around to his ass. With a grunt, she pulled him inside her, and he was lost.

With her leg around his waist, and his cock buried inside her, Dean felt so happy he felt tears prickling at his eyes. He shut them and let Donna kiss him again, his heart pounding as she stroked his face and exhaled hitched breaths against his lips. Dean fucked up into her, sliding his hips smoothly, his hand on her lower back, guiding her movements as he met her halfway.

They made love like that, laying on their sides, their arms around each other, sliding and writhing against each other’s bodies, nails dragging over skin until Dean felt the power of his orgasm building, tightening like a coil at the base of his cock. With a hitched gulp of air, he rolled on top of her, and immediately lifted himself up onto his elbows. Her hand outstretched, reaching for him, and he grasped it, squeezing their fingers, the back of her hand pressed into the mattress. Dean’s other hand was down at her waist, curled under, pulling her up repeatedly as he angled his hips downward, bringing them together, over and over and over.

Donna lifted her head from the pillow and her forehead was pressed into his neck. “Dean, Dean, Dean…”

“Got you,” he gasped, turning his face into her hair, his eyes squeezed shut. “I got you.”

“I love you,” she breathed against his skin, her nails digging into his back.

Immediately, Dean was tipped over the edge, and she pulled him close. 

“I love you,” he choked out, shuddering, his hand squeezing hers still. He felt her turn her face and he met her half-way, crushing their lips together. As his cock gave another squeeze, and he felt himself pour into her, he whispered again, “I love you, I love you. Fuck, I—”

His orgasm rumbled through him still, urged on by Donna’s as it carried on, bringing him along for the ride. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, their foreheads pressed together, and as they came down from their shared trembling, powerful orgasms, Dean and Donna rolled back onto their sides, still locked together, still holding on for dear life.

After some quiet, they caught their breath, and Donna was the first to speak.

“Wowwie,” Donna said with a swallow, gulping down air. “That was…”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean blinked hard, eyes sliding open. “I just…”

“Stay.” Donna’s finger came up and she traced his face, pulling her finger over his forehead and down his temple, tracing his crow's feet. “Stay here for a while.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean murmured, the subtle tingle of sleepiness seeping into his mind. He mimicked Donna’s movements, his finger tracing her lips, lips that were still stained pinkish-red from her lipstick tonight. “You’re stuck with me. I’m sleeping here. And tomorrow, I’ll let Sam and Eileen know that other room is theirs now.”

***

Dean was roused the next morning by the sound of chatter downstairs, the rumble of the vent above the stove going on maximum capacity, audience laughter from the TV, and the mingled scent of bacon, eggs, and cookies wafting up from the festivities downstairs. 

For a confusing moment, he forgot where he was as he peered around blearily at the unfamiliar room, but he lifted himself off the pillow he was hugging—one that smelled like laundry and Donna—to take in his surroundings. While the room was initially unfamiliar, eventually he saw Donna’s Power Rangers t-shirt draped over the back of a worn armchair, a pair of polka dot underwear on the floor, and antlers that still blinked dully even though their batteries were at the end of their life.

Smiling happily, Dean flopped back down into his pillow face first, rubbing his stubbly cheek into the cotton. He inhaled deeply and sighed, before pulling his eyes open again and noticing that Donna’s side was Donna-less, but not without something else to occupy the space.

Dean jerked up onto his elbow and reached across the bed, his fingers reaching out for a small black box wrapped in cheap velvet. Atop the box was a small card. 

With a tiny buzz of excitement, and admittedly, some nervousness, Dean opened the card and read Donna’s curly, round writing.

_Merry Christmas, goober. _

_ <strike>Yours</strike> _

<strike> __ </strike> _Love,_

_Your holly, jolly D-Train_

Okay, the tiny buzz? It quickly turned into a big buzz. Dean re-read the note about four more times, his face hurting from smiling (_Love, Your holly, jolly D-Train_) by the time he realised he still had to open the box. Substantially less nervous, Dean did so.

Inside, sitting on cheap fluffy white felt, on the end of a leather string, was a silver key.

He knew what it was for. With a grin, Dean ducked his head and slipped the string around his neck.

Quickly, he got up, rushed back to his initial room, changed into fresh clothing, and padded downstairs.

“Booooo!” Claire cried out immediately as Dean descended the final few steps. She cupped her hand by her face and went on, declaring, “Is this your first family Christmas or what, dork? You’re supposed to come downstairs in your PJs like the rest of us. It’s tradition.”

Beside her, in pyjama pants and a grey henley, Cas shrugged. Clearly, he’d been conned into wearing pyjamas, too, even though Dean knew for a fact that Cas did not sleep and probably hadn't last night. But Claire looked pleased, gesturing back to her not-dad, “Even the angel put on PJs. Go back up and don’t come back downstairs until you can behave like a regular, civilized human.”

“Wow,” Dean laughed at Jody, who joined him at the bottom of the stairs with a grin. He gestured to Claire and huffed, “She’s mean on Christmas morning.”

“She has demands, yes,” Jody agreed, winking at Claire, who shoved a chocolate orange in her mouth and turned back to the TV. 

Dean exchanged a cheerful smile with Cas, who winked at him and turned back to the TV, pulling his—were Castiel’s feet _bare?_—feet up under his butt, mimicking the way Claire was sitting.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Jody said, pulled him into a hug. Against his ear, she whispered, “Glad you took my advice from last night.”

He pulled back and stared down at her, realizing that Jody had known about him and Donna the entire time. His face melted into a surprised smile. “I, uh…”

She patted him on the shoulder and padded into the living room, saying over her shoulder, “Come on, Winchester. We’ve all been waiting for you for presents.”

Indeed, everyone was around the coffee table, Alex and Claire seated on the loveseat on either side of Cas. Eileen and Sam sat on the hearth, their back to the firebox which burned white embers. While Jody stepped preciously over everyone’s legs to take her spot at the base of the Christmas tree, Dean moved into the living room to find that Donna was plopped down into a squishy, lumpy armchair.

She looked up, staring at him upside down as he came to a stop behind the chair, his hand lingering near her shoulder. 

“Hiya!” She greeted, waving, her fingers pulling at the orange foil of a chocolate orange. “Merry Christmas, goober!”

Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, or the warmth of the embers in the fireplace, or the smell of cocoa heating up in the kitchen, or maybe it was just the D-train pulling into the station of Dean’s heart for good, because Dean leaned down and kissed her.

Donna jolted a bit, confused, but he smiled against her lips, tasting citrusy-chocolate and minty toothpaste. Immediately, other than little gasps of surprise, Claire making a joking noise of disgust, and Jody wolf-whistling, Dean was hyper-focused on the hearty chuckle that Donna allowed to escape against his lips. 

“Merry Christmas,” Dean replied, pulling away for a second, before he straightened and slid onto the arm of Donna’s chair, grinning happily when she wrapped an arm around his middle and settled her cheek against his side. “Well,” he asked, “we gonna open presents like regular, civilized humans?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Sure, as soon as you two quit sucking face. It’s gross.”

“It’s about time,” Alex said dryly, a smarmy little smirk on her lips.

Cas looked between everyone, confused. Then, he leaned towards Jody and rumbled, “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about it.”

Jody glanced up at him, seeming exasperated before she placed a hand on Castiel’s shouldered and rubbed in a motherly-fashion. “We just watched them play tonsil hockey in front of us, I think we’re allowed to talk about it now.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Claire went on, scowling, although her cheeks twitched like they wanted to smile. “For future, instead of face sucking, when you wanna let your friends and family know you’re dating someone, change your Facebook status like the rest of us normal people.”

“Send a text,” Eileen added, wriggling her thumbs. “Have a Christmas Card made.”

Dean and Donna laughed, exchanging raised eyebrows, but then Dean finally looked over to the face he was avoiding looking at, at the one person who hadn’t said anything yet.

Sam was staring at Dean, his eyes wide, and wet, and his mouth doing a weird flopping, gaping thing. The hazel dragged from Donna’s face up to Dean’s.

“You guys… I mean… _What? When_?”

Dean raised a finger and itched at his cheek, wincing. “Uh, while you were doing Men of Letters ‘research’ with Eileen, I was, uh,” Dean did air-quotes and chuckled nervously, “‘hunting clowns’ with Irv.”

For a second, Dean thought Sam was going to blow a gasket, his face looking perplexed and alarmed, but then like a blink of an eye, Sam grinned and he actually _laughed_, a little barking sound that made everyone exchange looks and burst into laughter.

Of course, Cas looked around confused, but the humans were having a great time.

“That’s _awesome_,” Sam said. “Dude, that’s...awesome.”

His face warm, but his heart warmer, Dean pointed at the Christmas tree like a caveman. “Quit making everyone stare at me. Let’s open gifts.”

Claire seemed to perk up, and Dean remembered very suddenly that under the eyeliner, and the snark, and the bravado, was a 19-year-old girl and she was excited for presents on Christmas.

“I don’t _see _a brand new car key under there…” Claire said, leaning over the back of the couch to jokingly peer under the tree.

Jody, mid-way through rifling through presents, raised a brow at Claire and drawled, “Don’t squint too hard, Claire, you’ll go blind.”

Quietly, while Claire and Jody jokingly bickered, Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Donna’s head, urging her to look up. When she did, looking all glitter-eyed and excited, Dean murmured, “Speaking of keys, thank you for, uh, what you gave me today.”

“Merry Christmas,” Donna said simply. “It’s a key to my cabin, so you can come whenever you want, because...it’s your home, too, ya know.”

Dean snorted, “Thanks for clarifying what it was. Here I was thinkin’ it was the key to your heart.”

“Don’t be a big goof,” Donna snorted, waving him off. “You’ve always had that.”

She went back to watching Claire and Alex begin to open gifts, but Dean did a double-take at what she said, staring at the side of her face as her eyes twinkled in excitement. He watched her pop a piece of chocolate in her mouth, and his mouth went dry, though it had nothing to do with hunger.

“I… Hey,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulders. 

She looked up at him, winking.

“Mine too,” he admitted, falling into lovely brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and curly hair. “You’ve always had mine, too.”

Her finger came up and poked him on the tip of the nose. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

Cheeks warm, Dean looked up and watched Claire open a brand new thigh holster—a gift from Dean—to Jody’s chagrin. The embers behind Sam and Eileen fluttered in an orange glow, keeping everyone toasty and filling the room with the smell of burning logs. Tinsel on the tree reflected the sun shining through the bay window, speckling Cas’ face in silvery-blue polka-dots that looked a lot like the colour of his and Claire’s eyes. Dean watched them smile at each other as Claire tried on the holster over her plaid pyjama pants. Eileen sucked on a candy cane she’d stolen from the Christmas tree, and then offered some to Sam, who grinned and bit off the tip.

With his heart filled with love, Dean’s entire body buzzed where Donna was nestled in just right like they’d both been made to fit into each other perfectly. 

Dean smiled, and his thumb stroked her shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, D-Train.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment! They make my heart sing. 💕


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